Lahcy week 2015
by MissKojika
Summary: Lahar and Lucy swap stories as Lahar recovers from his near death experience. WARNING: spoilers for people not caught up with the manga up to chapter 416.
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry this is late, but this is my first entry for the Lahar/Lucy week. It doesn't count towards the day one prompt, just my declaration of intent. Day one will count as chapter 2 so look forward to that. My chapters will be late because I'm starting from scratch after the event's began, but I'll try my best to keep some schedule. In the mean-time enjoy!**

 **Standard disclaimer: I own nothing!**

 **Ch. 1 Prologue**

Gran Doma looked down his hooked nose at those assembled around him. Select members of the council, as well as representatives of his rune knights stood around the council chambers murmuring amongst themselves. To his left sat his second in command, Master Org. The kind hearted man had sat at the heart of every matter of import for almost as long as himself. Their tenure on the council had aged both men greatly. The constant intrigue and threat of betrayal, (Segrain hardly being the first,) had both men beyond ready for retirement.

Master Org smiled kindly at some report provided by two representatives of their esteemed rune knights. General Lahar and Doranbolt spoke in hushed tones with the elder council man. The atmosphere, while tense, was respectful and in standing with the pretenses of the occasion. How was the council to deal with the rising threat of last prominent dark guild standing?

His beady black eyes traveled over the opaque screen provided by the active archive spell. Blurry images of three mages, their profiles unintelligible, along with speculative statistics regarding their talents and skills taunted his efforts. Very little information was known about their targets. No one could produce a decent picture of the mages, it was as if they were chasing after ghosts, and the few who witnessed their abilities survived the ordeal; leaving first account information scarce. The only thing anyone could state as fact was that they were mages from one secretive dark guild. A former member of the Balam Alliance, Tartaros.

The other guilds involved in the alliance, Oracion Seis and Grimoire Heart, were long gone; defeated in unrelated circumstances by the legal guild Fairytail. Although the guild was considered a 'light guild', it caused more destruction and mayhem than the three dark guilds of the Balam Alliance combined. It became an exercise in morals to differentiate between the property destruction of Fairytail and the threat to innocent lives posed by the dark guilds. It was such a debate within the council concerning the standing of Fairytail, that there was a clear fifty-fifty divide among the members. Half accepted the guild as a productive, albeit quirky, asset to society. The rest were all for just hitting the guild with a concentrated Etherion blast and being done with the whole matter. The only thing stopping the second group from acting was the fact that a number of members were already hit with a blast from the ultimate weapon and walked away virtually unscathed. It didn't behoove them to risk the public backlash of firing the weapon on a populated area when the desired result was far from certain.

Of course it also stood to reason, given the evidence thus far, that it wasn't wise to incur the wrath of the fairies. Should any number survive an attack by the council, Makarov Dreyar had a whole guild of powerhouses to channel his vengeance through. Gran Doma had enough on his plate without poking at _that_ nest of hornets.

Fairytail aside, with the other two dark guilds wiped out, there was a noticeable power vacuum. It was rumored that surviving members of the other two guilds, those not incarcerated, had turned to Tartaros for aid and were quickly and violently turned away. This situation made Gran Doma's long grey beard twitch with unease.

He ran his fingers through the long facial locks in thought. There was something they were missing. Some pertinent tidbit that would bring to light the motives of the prominent evil guild. There were too many variables and things weren't adding up, hence he called this emergency meeting of his senior council and relevant representatives. Tartaros was getting ready to make a move, and it was up to the council to be ready.

Just as he was about to call the meeting back into session, muffled shouting was heard from outside the closed doors to the hallowed halls. A sense of unease settled throughout the room as faint booms were heard, followed by tremors that had a dusting of debris falling loose from the ceiling.

Just then a green member of the frog race burst through the entrance into the hall. His stately blue and white robes billowing about his frame as he frantically tried to croak out a warning to the men and women presently staring at him in horror. He got little farther than "I'm sorry…" before a blinding white light erupted from his chest cavity. Less than a heartbeat later, the frog man's chest exploded outwards, showering those present in gruesome gore and filth. The now lifeless body crumbled in a heap at the entrance, his frantic attempt to warn the council of the impending danger rendered unnecessary. The culprit walked casually into the now silent hall, stepping around the dead body without even a glance.

The newcomer was of average height and build with blond hair barely passed his jawline. He had a pair of animalistic ears perched on top of his head, golden cat-like eyes, and sharp canines peeking past his sneer. The combination served to make his look every bit the wild beast.

"Well, well now," he taunted, "why am I never invited to these parties?" Those present in the hall tensed and prepared for the man to attack. With his arms spread wide as if in greeting, the stranger continued to walk into to room.

"You know it's kinda dull in here," he continued. "Let's liven it up with a bang!"

With that an ominous rune circle opened up beneath his feet, growing impossibly in diameter until it covered the entirety of the floor the council stood upon. Almost before anyone in the room could comprehend what was happening and prepare for it, the hall erupted in white hot heat.

"Remember the name of Jackal when you burn in hell!"

 **...Line break...**

Doranbolt coughed harshly trying to clear his airways of the harsh smoke and debris he accidentally inhaled with each breath. Slowly, and with great effort, he lifted himself into a crawling position. His arms shook with the strain of his weight as he sat back to settle himself on the balls of his feet. He looked around silently taking stock of the destruction around him.

A warm breeze traveled unhindered through what used to be the inaccessible private meeting chambers of the esteemed magic council, now a leveled space completely exposed. Stately pillars that once held the lofty seats of individual members now lay toppled and broken, lost within the rubble of justice and order. Doranbolt's heart dropped to his toes when he spied caught on a familiar set of optical lenses crushed next to a prone figure half buried beneath a pile of rubble. With a cry on anguish, the direct-line mage teleported to the prone body of his superior.

"Oh Mavis no, Lahar!" Doranbolt grasped his superior's shoulders and began shaking him in an attempt to gain a reaction. When none was forthcoming, he lowered his head to the other man's chest. He held his breath waiting for some sign of life: a heartbeat, a breath, anything. With every second that passed without anything, Doranbolt's hope dwindled further and further until it was nothing but a writhing mass of despair.

Movement to his right caught his attention. Doranbolt's head whipped around and his gaze locked onto an overlooked crumpled figure attempting to rise. Before the man could even begin to get his hands beneath his body, another figure appeared. This man had no sign of scratch or trauma related to being a victim of the destruction around them. He looked around disinterestedly before settling his gaze on the pitiful man beneath him.

"Oh now, it looks like you didn't die!" The man's, now recognized as Jackal, eyes gleamed maliciously with unrestrained malice as they bore into the prone form of the victim beneath his gaze. With a groan the fallen man was able to life his head and locked one bleary eye with Doranbolt. Time seemed to stop for the scarred mage as the identity of the poor soul hit him like a sledge hammer. "Org run!"

Doranbolt desperately tried to will the elderly council member enough strength to escape Jackal standing over his battered body, but to no avail. With a dark chuckle he reached one clawed arm down to grasp the bald cranium of Org. A cry of pain left his cracked lips as Jackal began to taunt and threaten his prey. The direct-line mage's limbs refused to function even as Org pled with him to escape the villain.

Doranbolt had every intention of remaining at Org's side even in death until a slight movement in his peripheral caught his attention. It was minute, almost non-existent, but it was there. A slight trembling rise of Lahar's chest. It became clear what path needed to be taken. As the whole area shook from a fresh wave of explosions; the direct line mage was already speeding away with his precious, fragile, cargo.

"I'm sorry!" he prayed as he fled the blasts that ended the life of the old council member. Tears betrayed him as they escaped his eyes, but he ignored them. His gaze was determined and focused as he made for the one place he could think of that could save Lahar, Fairytail.

 **...Line Break...**

 **Well the prologue's done and out of the way. ^_^ Now I'll get started writing the rest of the prompts. Day one is about halfway completed, and I know what I want to do story-wise, so I'll get started right on that, so please be patient, and let me know what you think. Also I'll try to make the rest of the chapters longer.**

 **Don't forget to r & f**


	2. Pontificate

**Yay I finally have day one ready to post. Let me know what you think.**

 **Standard disclaimer applies. I own nothing.**

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Ch. 2 Day 1- Ppontificate

Lahar awoke with a groan, every fiber of his being throbbing in time with his pulse. Pain laced behind his eye lids making him doubt the good sense to open his eyes. So he didn't. He gave his other senses free reign as he assessed his surroundings.

Wherever he was, it was quiet. His next observation was that he was laying prone on a hard, but giving surface, with a sheet or fabric covering his body from the chest down.

' _I'm in a bed?'_

He could smell alcohol and other chemicals, old and lingering smells. Hardly fresh which put him slightly more at ease. The likelihood of this place belonging to a psycho killer intent of performing a premature autopsy diminished…slightly. It could still happen. Other scents were more fresh and pronounced. Incense and detergents were dominant fragrances, most likely coming from the sheets of the bed he was laying in. When all scents combined, they were not the most soothing of smells to wake up to. They helped him further hypothesize where he'd ended up though.

' _I'm in a clinic?'_

When he tried to listen to his immediate surroundings, he was met with silence. If he pushed his hearing to his human limits, he could hear the rustling of leaves and the groaning of wood as they were displaced by a breeze. Said breeze would lazily waft his way through what he figured was an open window, disturbing the smell of the room with the scent of earth and wood.

' _I'm in a rural clinic? Why am I not in a city hospital?'_

While it was easy enough to deduce where his body was at present, none of his senses could help him discover just _how_ he'd wound up in a clinic in the middle of nowhere, or more importantly _why_ he needed to be here. Obviously something had occurred to reduce him to this state. With almost every fiber of his being throbbing in pain, there was little doubt that something violent had befell his body, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what it could have been.

The last thing he could remember was talking to Councilman Org about the need to try and send someone to infiltrate Tartaros. There had been several secret meetings already concerning the dark guild, but all had yielded little by way of results. Most of what was said could be described as little more than pontificating. Facts and speculation were tossed around haphazardly with little more point than to undermine one another's intelligence. They only made themselves look like asses.

Undoubtedly Tartaros had found a way to snake its claws in even at this level, mucking up the effort with stall tactics and misinformation, but no accusations could be made without irrefutable proof. If they were good enough to infiltrate at this level… then they weren't dumb enough to leave something incriminating floating around!

Regardless of the threat of a spy on the council; he had cornered Org in the hopes of securing permission to begin compiling a list of suitable candidates to play mole, even though he was sure it would be Doranbolt again. The man was the best in the business when it came to such missions, and completely loyal to the rune knights…

The creak of what sounded like a door and the sound of feet shuffling across a wooden floor halted Lahar's thoughts. His body tensed, and he kept his eyes closed concentrating on feigning sleep as he listened to the visitor move about his room. As the sound of heeled footsteps came closer, he was assaulted with the scent of a woman's perfume. It was sweet smelling and most likely a fairly high end brand. A soft feminine sigh as a body settled in a chair next to him had him relaxing slightly. This person was most likely not a danger to him.

"Still asleep huh?" A woman's soft voice whispered in the quiet. It was completely familiar despite the slightly raspy quality it had taken, as if she'd spent some time crying recently. It was a voice he'd secretly been hearing in every secret fantasy he'd never admit to having- even under pain of torture- since the grand magic games. It was a voice that even now caused goose-bumps to rise over his arms.

"It's been a week you know, and Mest is so worried about you. He's back at my apartment right now, hopefully sleeping." Lahar was torn between being thankful that Doranbolt was at least in the area, and jealous over the fact that the direct-line mage was able to enjoy miss Lucy's living quarters. He imagined the scarred man lying in the celestial mage's bed, buried beneath a glaringly pink comforter and surrounded her scent. It made a small green monster rear its unseemly head and start thrashing against the mental binds tying it ruthlessly to his iron control.

"I had to force that man to take a break for a bit. He only left because I promised him I'd sit with you so you didn't get lonely." There was a creak as she adjusted in her seat, most likely crossing her shapely legs. Lahar tried to focus on what she was saying rather than the image his mind had conjured of her performing the action. Although he was sure she was wearing more than what he'd pictured, and most likely wasn't blushing like that… or maybe she was blushing. He wasn't going to 'wake up' and find out yet.

"You're really lucky you know?" She continued. "Having someone who'll worry about you like that, I'm kind of jealous…no that isn't right…" He could just imagine her face scrunched up in concentration as she fought to match the proper word to what she was feeling. "Something slightly less than envious but still powerful…" She chuckled to herself. "I can't seem to think of the most suitable word... I'm sorry." She sighed audibly. Lahar frowned internally at her change in demeanor. In every encounter he'd shared with the woman, be she alone or with her team, Lucy always had a spark to her personality that had shown through each gesture despite her mood. This spark was no longer present and it troubled him greatly.

"I'm supposed to be keeping you company and instead I'm sitting here prattling on and feeling sorry for myself. Like you want to hear me argue with myself about how to best define my insecurities."

As Lucy returned to telling him about the goings on of present state of affairs, he couldn't help but focus on a few key points…Like her change. He didn't know what had happened to Lucy that could have censored her enthusiasm for life, but then again, he couldn't even remember how the hell he'd wound up injured either. Perhaps the two matters were related. Given that she was a Fairytail mage, it was entirely possible. Also, if he was comatose for a week as she'd earlier suggested, then why wasn't he in a proper hospital? Why was this beautiful woman sitting watch over him instead of an army of medical personnel? Then another thought passed over his consciousness that had all other faculties stop in shock…

' _Who's keeping up with my paperwork?'_

That thought almost had him jumping out the bed to high tail it to his office just to assess the damage left in his absence. It took herculean effort to remain faux coma in his stiff bed, wrapped in overly starched sheets, while pretty young Lucy kept him company… less effort with Lucy there with him. He was interested in finding out what secrets she might accidentally expose while believing him to be asleap.

"They're already talking about remaking the council even though it's only been a week. I think the wizard saints were going to run it, at least until suitable replacements can be found…"

All thoughts of continuing to fake sleep flew out the window when he'd heard that something had happened to the council. He sat up as if Cobra had snuck a snake under his pillow and launched himself at the woman at his bedside… or attempted to at least. He managed to half roll onto his side, arm raised to grasp Lucy before he was stopped by the sheets. Apparently they were stapled into the underside of the mattress or something because, the force of his weight was not enough to dislodge them. At all. It was quite comical actually. He was shamefully trapped, and too physically week to remedy the situation. His arm remained suspended in the air grasping at nothing as both mages locked eyes. Her shocked caramel irises pierced his pleading lavender ones.

Now that his eyes were open, he could confirm that he was indeed in a quaint rural clinic, and yes, it was truly Lucy sitting in a stiff uncomfortable looking wooden chair. Yes, she was wearing more than his perverted mind had originally pictured, a white sundress that actually came to her knees, and damn was she beautiful. These were all quick subconscious observations, completed without true thought behind the matter. His true focus remained on the devastating news he was only now hearing.

"What do you mean they're reforming the council! What happened to Gran Doma and Master Org!" With renewed effort he tried to recall what happened that day, but his memory became hazy and unfocused passed speaking with Master Org. Try as he might, his mind refused to move passed those last frames of memory despite his attempts. All his effort afforded him was a vast increase in his headache, now full pounding migraine.

Lucy's eyes looked at him with pity, which raised his hackles slightly. She shifted her gaze to the demon sheets as her hands busied themselves with picking at her dress. She appeared to weigh her words carefully before locking her large mocha colored eyes with his again. After taking a large steadying breath, she proceeded to destroy Lahar's world.

"The council was attacked by Tartaros. As far as we know, only you and Mest, I'm sorry… Doranbolt survived." All the oxygen left Lahar's lungs in a whoosh as his mind locked on the fact that everyone was dead. Unbidden memories surfaced of his time working for the council. Memories of council men and women, as well as regular employees; people he'd befriended, played within his mind's eye. Superiors, rivals, friends, and acquaintances; they were all dead.

A small sob escaped Lahar's control as tears spilled unbridled down his cheeks. His arm fell back to his side as he returned to laying on his back. He stared at the ceiling fully contemplating what this news meant, not caring what face he showed to the blond. Normally he'd never allow his control to slip so completely, but these were special circumstances. He'd been working for the council since he was a young teen. Some of the councilmen had become more than mentors, almost like family to him. They'd guided him through some of the roughest times in his life.

He'd been quite the hellion in his younger day, not that you'd know it to look at him now. He'd been in and out of reform schools, even had a small but insignificant stint with a minor dark guild at one point. As an orphan, there was a great deal he needed in life socially that he was trying and failing to replicate with his associations. It had been the order and discipline he'd found when he was finally forced to intern for the junior knight squadron that had finally convinced him to settle down some. It had been a last resort on the council's part. The next step would have been magic cancelling cuffs and a set of prison bars.

A weight settled next to him on the bed and before he knew it, he was held deep in the embrace of the celestial mage. Her small arms were wrapped around his shoulders as best as they could be given the awkward angle. Gloriously his face was nestled within her ample bosom, and had he been another type of man… under different circumstances, he'd begin to think of less than appropriate things. As it was, his grief was too great for him to be able to consider taking advantage of the situation. Later, when alone, he'd dwell on the bounty he was enjoying, but not right now.

Slowly, he returned her embrace from his prone position and mourned. Together they sat wrapped in each other's embrace while the captain of the defense squad allowed his emotions to flow freely and his companion didn't comment on it, even after his tears soaked through her shirt. Instead she gently rocked him from side to side while whispering soft words of comfort to him.

After an hour or so had passed, Lahar finally settled down enough to fall into a fitful sleep. He never noticed the sad smile Lucy gave him while she threaded her fingers through his soft black hair one last time. He also wasn't aware of the soft butterfly kiss Lucy let flutter over his full lips as she silently stood from beside him and returned to her chair, long legs crossed, to wait for him to wake again.

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 **Behold my first chapter for this promt week. This had to have been the hardes thing to beat out of my brain in ages. It didn't help that I couldn't find out how to incorporate 'pontificate' into the chapter. Yeah I know it's kinda crowbarred in there somewhere, but it's there. I'm sorry. I've started on the next chapter and hopefully it'll be easier to write than this one was. Also, I don't know what happened with this, but the story's taking an unexpected turn. I'd originally planned for the story to read like a series of anecdotes between characters with a bit of fluff between, but this chapter took my plan for the story and murdered it vehemently. This was the only chapter I didn't have a plan for, and now I have to go back and completely change up my idea for this monster. Damn plot bunnies making me change the style of the story.**

 **Again, please read, review, favorite, and follow.**


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